Rabblerouser
by Hecatonchires
Summary: Mithran by blood, Mercenary by trade, Sphinx thinks nothing of stirring up a little trouble for entertainment. From the back alleys to the pub to the battlefield, she soldiers through with a grin on her face and a dagger behind her back.


Sphinx leaned back in her chair and surveyed the crowd. The Rusty Anchor of course had the usual mix of adventurers just passing through, dock workers drinking away their hard-earned gil, and old-timers whispering to each other in their quiet corners. Nobody really paid attention to the short, wiry Mithra who sat at a table alone, near the wall. She wore light plate mail, specially crafted to allow maximum mobility without sacrificing too much protection. It was no walking fortress, but it kept the worst from hitting her somewhere important.

She brushed a shock of white hair from one eye as she lounged, nursing a stein of imported Bastokan ale. None of the regular patrons really interested Sphinx. No, what interested her was the small group of young Elvaan who had just stepped through the door, laughing and slapping each other on the back in celebration. Her eyes flicked to the helmet and gauntlets that lie neatly stacked on her table, gleaming warmly in the candle-light.

Ah, she smiled. This could be interesting. Royal Knight trainees, just back from a first foray out in Ronfaure from the sounds of it. They probably chased down some straggler Orcish scout who'd lost his way and gave it a gang beating. Funny how one man's brutality is a mob's nobility. Sphinx eyed them coolly as they arranged themselves around the bar and loudly demanded refreshments. Flush with victory and on top of the world... This could be very interesting indeed.

Sphinx hastily drained her stein, picked up one of her armored gauntlets and wobbled over to the bar. She wasn't drunk; at least, not drunk enough to make her clumsy. Just drunk enough to blunt what little better judgment she had. She slammed her stein down on the bar, in the middle of the trainees' merrymaking.

"Barrr'tenner!" she drawled, faking a drunken slur. "Be a gem would ya, fill that up fer me?"

Silence reigned among the acolyte Royal Knights for a moment, until a slender man, apparently their self-appointed leader, said "If you will but grant him a moment, I believe he is not yet finished drawing ours." He smiled disarmingly, but couldn't quite hide the disdain in his eyes. Disdain and a hint of pity, probably at seeing an inferior race play out their inevitable weaknesses.

That was all Sphinx needed. She'd almost considered letting them off the hook after such an unexpected outburst of _manners_, but whatever the brewers in Bastok put in their ale, it didn't give up easy.

"C'monnnn," she whined, "I'll just slip rrrright in, af'r th'next one, there. Won't even notice. 'Sides, I been herrre longer'n you, got dibs on that barten'errr, I do." She smiled hazily.

"Madame, this simply will not do—" the Elvaan began to protest, but stopped in shock when Sphinx pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shush shush shush, din't you ever hear 'ladies first'?"

Face purple with barely contained rage, the trainee ground out "You would 'shush' me as if I were a babe? A child in their crib? Do you know the station of the one to whom you speak!"

"Hm." The Mithra lolled her head to the side, putting on a great show of carefully thinking the question over. "Well. Dressed like 'at... Talkin' like 'at... Got it! Street sweeperrr!"

The sound of an open palm striking Sphinx full across the face was swallowed by the low hubbub in the Rusty Anchor, but the leers and chuckles of the man's companions were not. She stared for a moment, then laughed. All traces of drunken rambling disappeared as she said, "S'not fairrr, striking a lady. Good thing I don't fight fairrr either."

With that, she slipped on her gauntlet and gave him a staggering full-force punch that sent him reeling from the stool onto the floor. His companions instantly leapt to their feet, cursing and shouting. Sphinx kicked the stool at a quickly forming knot of them, grinning at their angry cries as they tripped and fell. She wheeled on the others – A moment too slow, as one clipped her across the face. Reeling, she lunged forward and sank her armored fist into his gut. He gasped and sagged as she darted unsteadily behind the nearest convenient table, less than a moment ahead of a flying bottle.

The bottle shattered, sending a spray of glass and foam onto the table's occupants. Three Galka. Dead silence reigned as the three slowly surveyed their ruined meal and stained clothes. One pounded a meaty fist onto the table and rose to his feet. His friends were not far behind him. The bottle-thrower's mouth fell agape, frantically working to speak the words that would not come.

With a mighty roar, the entire table was sent flying across the room to splinter against the wall. Crouched on the floor, Sphinx allowed herself a delighted chuckle despite her spinning senses. Oh, this was going to be a good one. She shook her head to clear it, then stood to watch the fireworks. The Galka had already waded into the thick of things, massive fists arcing in haymakers that would bring a Dhalmel to its knees. Some of the inductee Royal Knights had fled in panic, upsetting other tables in desperation and dragging others into the melee.

Merry havoc had descended onto the Rusty Anchor. Sphinx danced gleefully in the midst of it, dodging and swinging, not caring who she struck or who pummeled her in the heat of the brawl. She laughed at the yelps and curses that greeted bare knuckles on her armor and winced at those that caught her in places unarmored. This, _this_, is how a girl unwinds after a hard day!

After deciding she'd had enough, she ducked under one of the remaining unbroken tables to catch her breath. She noticed a Tarutaru in novice healer's robes huddled there, eyes wide in terror at the chaos all around. Sphinx patted him companionably and murmured "Don't worrry about that lot, they just need to work off some nerrrvous energy." The Tarutaru frantically nodded, jumping anew at each whoop and crash.

Louder, more frantic shouting began, prompting Sphinx to peep out from underneath her table. A squad of Temple Knights had entered and were busily breaking up fights, calmly and efficiently – Or at least with as much efficiency as could be achieved in a drunken brawl.

"All good things must come to an end, alas, alas" mumbled Sphinx. "Or howeverrr that old song went." She sighed and located her table, helm and gauntlet now spilled to the floor and in danger of being trampled. She slunk over, scooping them up and huddling under her new refuge to wait out the fighting. Eventually things died down, with more than a few loudly protesting combatants hauled off for questioning.

Over at the bar, the T.K. squad leader stood questioning the trainees. Sphinx figured this was a good time to make a clean break and stood, starting to make her way towards the exit. She froze as one of the Elvaan women at the bar pointed at her and began talking animatedly. The squad leader cast Sphinx a glance, then looked back to the woman. Well, so much for another daring escape... May as well get a head start on things and move a little closer.

"...started it all, with her shameless Mithran savagery!" the woman was saying. Another wannabe R.K. Sphinx groaned inwardly.

"Silence," commanded the Temple Knight. "One chooses the time and manner of one's own battles! Such is the code of the Knighthood. To blame another for a fight you enter willingly is naught but craven cowardice and unwillingness to accept responsibility for your own actions. Report to your commanding officer, immediately," he sneered. "All of you!"

Shamed, the cluster of young Elvaan shuffled towards the door, more than a few casting Sphinx murderous glances. She smiled meekly back, painfully aware of the Temple Knight's eyes upon her. Choose the time and manner of one's own battles, huh? Sound advice.

"Oh, thank goodness you folks showed up," Sphinx gushed. "I was afrrraid they were going to tear the whole bar down!" Turn up the charm, give 'em a nice smile, they're putty in your hands... Unfortunately, the icy glare of the man in front of her seemed to think otherwise. The uneasy feeling that she'd finally bitten off more than she could chew settled into Sphinx's stomach as she maintained a smiling face, faking adoration for her would-be savior.

"You," intoned the Knight slowly. "May not have been the sole cause. But enough evidence points towards you that I have little doubt of your guilt or malicious intent in the affair."

"ME!" spluttered Sphinx. "Chocobo featherrrs! Or Dhalmel featherrrs... Whichever o' them doesn't have any." Seeing a look of impatience begin to grow on the knight's face, she explained "Start a fight with THEM? They'rrre twice my size, I'd get pounded flat! I'm flatterrred you think I've got that kind o' guts, sir, but I value my life!" She hoped that she wasn't overdoing the look of wide-eyed surprise.

The armored man considered this for a moment, then softened a little. "I confess, I have nothing with which to press legitimate charges upon you... But—" he added, noticing the numerous bruises that spoke plainly of the Mithra's involvement. "I swear to you, should I ever find you stirring up such trouble as this again, mark my words, it will be a black day for you."

Sphinx nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, I'd expect nothin' less! You can't be too harrrd on those rabble-rousers or they'll tear down the whole city in a debauch! Must be hard, keepin' law and order with all the roughnecks pourrring in from outside nowadays."

"So it is," he said, giving her an odd look. "So it is. Good eve to you, madame."

"Yes, it was. Orrr at least, is now." Sphinx gave the man a brilliant smile and strolled towards the door, apparently oblivious to the confused stare trained on her back. She picked her way through broken stools, upturned tables, and broken glass, thinking to herself. That last bit ought to put the ol' T.K. off-balance, but maybe hanging around San d'Oria wasn't the best of ideas right now. She might have to look into going somewhere else – Maybe Bastok. That Hume she'd talked to earlier certainly seemed to think it was on the up-and-up, and if the whole "sniper rifle" scenario played out, making them the military superpower he seemed to think it would... Well, always best to throw petras for the winning team.

Besides, Sphinx mused. She'd always wanted to arm wrestle a Galka.


End file.
